


Leaving the Healers

by LuvEwan



Series: Recovery [11]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Chronic Pain, Depression, Eating Difficulties, Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Medical, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Qui-Gon Lives, Worried Qui-Gon Jinn, Written for the QuiObi Writing Discord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28768146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvEwan/pseuds/LuvEwan
Summary: Obi-Wan is making slow progress with his physical recovery, but he is miserable after spending so long in the Healer Ward. Qui-Gon is unexpectedly granted exactly what he's hoped for--the Council and Vokara Che agree to release Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon's care. Yet what Qui-Gon assumes will be an easy decision and happy change for Obi-Wan is more difficult than he ever realized. What will Obi-Wan do?
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Recovery [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862353
Comments: 50
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Recovery series is a collaborative effort between Firondoiel, happygiraffe, sanerontheinside and me. 
> 
> This installment will be posted in two chapters, with the second coming in the next few days. Thank you to everyone who is following us along on this little angsty hurt-comfort journey.

Vokara Che laced her blue fingers together, occasionally glancing up from the glowing screen of the data pad to Qui-Gon’s waiting face. Her montrails draped over her shoulders, her thin mouth pressed in a straight line. She wore the Jedi mask of indecipherable emotion remarkably well, even for a seasoned Master.

Qui-Gon, also a seasoned Jedi Master, would not allow himself to shift in his chair. He sat in front of her desk and exuded calm, patience. He kept his heartbeat steady. He thought of the sleek lines of this room, Che’s office, how ultimately any room was useful enough, and if Obi-Wan was to remain in the Healer’s Ward, he could flourish just as well as if he was permitted to move to a private Temple residence. Qui-Gon was not convinced, but it was what he encouraged himself to think anyway. 

_They care for him. He is one of their own. This place is still home. I will help him no matter where he stays._

Finally, Healer Che exhaled and pulled back from the screen, fixing her eyes on Qui-Gon. “You present a compelling argument, Master Jinn.” He had known her long enough now and in such tender circumstances that he was able to detect the slight change in her expression, a softening of a few creases on her face. “In the healing arts, we are well aware that a patient’s mental and emotional state is as important to recovery as, say, medication regimen or physical therapy. And I have been...aware of P--Patient Kenobi’s growing restlessness.”

He couldn't help but notice how she caught herself. Not _Padawan_ , though nothing official had been discussed about a promotion for Obi-Wan, and certainly not with the healers. In fact Qui-Gon had not mentioned the incident to Che, or Anakin, or even Obi-Wan, beyond his initial reaction that day. But the absence of Obi-Wan’s long, familiar braid was impossible to ignore, though Che sidestepped any direct discussion, for which Qui-Gon was grateful.

“Every day he seems less like himself.” Qui-Gon answered frankly. He wanted to be measured in his responses, but he also wanted to win. For Obi-Wan. For himself too, if he was being honest. “He has always been a very determined person. Even when he was a young Padawan, he jumped headlong into any challenge.”

Che smiled. “Indeed. I remember seeing it for myself many times. In these very halls, in fact. Just a few weeks ago, he kindled fierce hope. Those initial foot sensations seemed to spur him on with his therapies. But time is his enemy as much as his friend, I think. His body needs time, a lot of it, to heal. His heart wants things to move quicker. He is a young man who feels the Universe is passing him by.”

Qui-Gon swallowed and glanced out the office’s small window. It was noon, the bustle of daily life at its bright crest, yet such life seemed far away, more a memory than a tangible reality. Obi-Wan did not have the freedom to simply walk out of the Temple into the sunlight, and Qui-Gon still struggled with grief and guilt. He knew Obi-Wan would gain wisdom from this enormous trial, yet all Qui-Gon could think was yes, the Universe _was_ passing Obi-Wan by. “He’s lost his sense of purpose. I want to show him he has a meaningful place in this Order, now and always.” Obi-Wan’s purpose for the last twelve years had been his apprenticeship, working towards Knighthood. He remembered the determined blue eyes looking up at him when they first met, how he had been frightened by the young boy, all that earnestness and longing and potential blazing in the Force. Qui-Gon had worried he would be burned by it. 

Now he could not imagine how cold his life would be without it, without Obi-Wan. 

“Of course,” Vokara Che smiled at him. “Myself and the High Council agree with you, Master Jinn. His bravery and sacrifice have earned him deep respect from everyone in this Order. His place among the Jedi is not in question.”

Qui-Gon’s stomach lurched. He felt off balance, like they were about to slide into the murky area of _however, but, nevertheless_. 

“The emotional healing process is complicated and fragile. As his physical condition continues to improve, I want Obi-Wan to expand his daily activities, so he can begin to understand his worth and abilities. There will be a focus on independence, in the areas where he can be self-sufficient.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “I agree that independence is crucial for Obi-Wan. He should be in control of his own life. I want to be certain that extends to his living situation, once he is released. Forgive my bluntness, Healer Che, but Obi-Wan will prefer to stay with me.” He hesitated before adding, “I prefer it.”

The Twi’lek healer laughed. “Forgive _me_ , Master Jinn, but your preference in this matter is rather obvious. You’re the only Jedi I can remember moving into the Healer’s Ward without an injury of your own.”

He sighed and held up his hands, unable to argue. 

“My professional opinion is that Obi-Wan would benefit from your continued involvement. As for the Council...well, they are concerned about the issue of attachment--”

“I don’t---”

“Let me finish, Qui-Gon. Attachment _is_ a concern, but that concern is outweighed by the gratitude and trust the Council has for you both. In short, they agree with you.”

Qui-Gon’s eyebrow involuntarily lifted.

Che chuckled. “Shall we pause this conversation while you absorb the shock? The Jedi Council agreeing with Maverick Jinn?”

He felt the tension in his gut ease. “I admit I came here prepared for more of a battle.”

She reached across her desk and laid her hand over his. “Obi-Wan has fought enough battles. With more surely ahead. Here is the rare one we can avoid, and so we will.”

\----

Obi-Wan considered the tray the healer had positioned in front of him. The tray itself was attached to the bed, and could pivot in several directions. He was tempted to push it away, but behind the thin, nutrient-rich broth and protein paste, he saw a cup of still-steaming tea. He carefully extracted the cup and held it between his hands, inhaling the wafting scent. He allowed its warmth to seep into his chest. For a moment, if he closed his eyes, Obi-Wan nearly felt like he was somewhere else, with a normal day waiting for him, starting with tea. 

The Healers Ward kept only the perfunctory blends on hand; this _sapir_ , he knew, came from Qui-Gon Jinn’s own personal collection. It was something Obi-Wan supposed Qui-Gon must have inherited from the mysterious, illustrious Dooku: a preference for quality, at least when it came to tea. But then, Qui-Gon occasionally smuggled takeout from Dex’s Diner into Obi-Wan’s room, so Dooku’s impact on his old protege seemed questionable. 

Obi-Wan did try to eat the food the healers brought him. He tried to eat the more complex fare his Master brought him too, knowing Qui-Gon considered it a reprieve from the bland ward menu. 

It didn’t seem to matter what sort of food was on the tray. His stomach roiled at the sight and smell of it all. He felt drained from the constant medications, as if they had stripped away the lining of his guts. He had not told Qui-Gon, but sometimes even water made him nauseous. Past medication regimes had been worse, and he was wary of upsetting the current, tolerable balance, an unsettled stomach being preferable to vomiting and random, cold sweats. It was simply another thing to live with--as he reminded himself, he was lucky to be living at all. 

He took another small sip; the tea was still hot enough to sting the ulcers inside his mouth. Those irritated Obi-Wan more than they should have. His head and neck were perpetually stiff, and that led to an unsavory habit of gnawing at the delicate inner flesh of his cheeks. Right now he was nursing several sore spots, unable to leave them alone long enough to heal. 

Healer Che had taken notice of those during an oral exam. His teeth were too tender, and he was unconsciously clenching his jaw enough to cause concern. 

Which meant _more_ questions, tests, prodding. Likely physical therapy. 

To start, Che suggested he place his tongue between his teeth when he noticed himself tensing. What had it been, almost a year since Naboo now? Before his injury, Obi-Wan had been mastering advanced kata, teaching a few classes to younger Padawans, honing his body in preparation for the trials ahead. 

He had not held a saber in months. He could not sit up unassisted, let alone corral a group of energetic children. 

What he could do was put his tongue between his teeth. Except this time he was too distracted, dragged down by the persistent sense of helplessness, and he bit it.

\---

Qui-Gon wanted to immediately return to Obi-Wan with the good news, but Healer Che had other issues to discuss with him: Obi-Wan’s continued therapies, upcoming outpatient procedures that needed to be scheduled. She gave him a few caveats about Obi-Wan’s move to private quarters, none of which Qui-Gon looked forward to explaining to Obi-Wan.

“ _He needs to eat, Master Jinn. He should be gaining strength rather than losing it. And I would like you to keep a record of his eating and sleeping habits, as well as pain levels for the first few weeks he spends in your care. If we are met with any significant relapse, he will need to return to the healers for closer monitoring, you understand.”_

Qui-Gon understood, though he was already writing fervent promises to Obi-Wan in his head. Once Obi-Wan was released to him, Qui-Gon would do everything to keep him free from the sterile room and sallow, regimented existence of the last year. 

He wasn’t expecting Che to lead him down a long corridor, turning a few times until they arrived at a set of rooms assigned to himself and Obi-Wan. Though they remained on the same level as the Halls of Healing, it felt more like the rest of the Jedi Temple, fluid and serene. The sleek door looked nearly the same as the door to their old quarters.

“A name plate will be added soon,” Che assured him. She palmed the entry pad and allowed him to walk in ahead. 

The main living quarters were spacious, leading to a large kitchen. Everything looked new, crisp. 

“The Council wishes for young Kenobi to be as comfortable as possible. These quarters are designed with hoverchairs in mind, hence the extra room and adaptive furniture. I thought perhaps he could take some of his therapies here, at least on bad pain days.” She swept her hand to the side, indicating a large empty corner. 

Qui-Gon could easily picture the foam mat and therapy equipment there. He felt bolstered by the idea--helping Obi-Wan with his exercises, not having to leave the comfort and privacy of their quarters. Perhaps the time would come when the healers were not required at all--

“There are only two bedrooms. His bedroom accommodates a larger bed and medical equipment. The freshers of course are fully accessible and outfitted with grips and bars.”

Qui-Gon had the passing thought of Anakin, where the boy would fit into this setup, but he filed that away for later. He--they, he and Obi-Wan--had succeeded. The rest would fall into place as the Force willed.

When they had left their quarters for the Naboo mission all those months ago, how could they have known they would never return to them, not together? 

A bittersweet ache gathered in his throat. He smiled at Healer Che. “I think it will work quite well. Thank you.”

\----

By the time he made the familiar journey through the halls to Obi-Wan’s room, Qui-Gon felt lighter than he had since...well, since a long time ago. He had already made arrangements with the Temple docents for his and Obi-Wan’s meager belongings to be moved to the new quarters. It would be comforting to see the threadbare quilt folded across the end of Obi-Wan’s bed again, a gift from Tahl when he was laid out for weeks with a nasty virus. 

And Qui-Gon would reclaim his plants. Mace had promised they would be well looked after, though Qui-Gon doubted that meant the Council member had taken them under his own wing. Likely they were in the Gardens, or spread out among several sitters. Perhaps he would find some sort of cascading leafy thing for Obi-Wan’s bedroom. He would leave Obi-Wan’s window open, except when he was sleeping. Let in the sun and fresh air. 

He slipped into the quiet room. Obi-Wan was resting on his side. 

Qui-Gon paused, studying the slender silhouette. Would his heart stop fluttering whenever he noticed that empty space where the braid used to drape from Obi-Wan’s ear to his shoulder. He stood there for a few minutes, watching him breathe, deciding whether it was worth it to awaken him just to share the good news. 

But Obi-Wan decided for him, blinking in the recessed light. “How is Anakin?” He asked blearily. 

Qui-Gon glanced at the chrono. Obi-Wan would have been given his evening meds by now. They loosened his speech and slowed his reactions. Typically he slept through the strongest wave of side effects. Qui-Gon settled in his usual chair and glanced at the tray at the side of the bed. There was a mostly empty cup of tea, an untouched bowl of soup, and some lackluster grainy paste with a spoon sitting on top. 

“I didn’t see Anakin,” He said, “Did you have the nutritional wafers?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes shifted to the floor tiles. “Not yet. Padawan Unduli thought I should try the anti-nausea med again.”

“I see. How is it working?”

“It’s not.” Obi-Wan moved gingerly on the pillow, severely limited by the brace. His lips looked dry, his bottom lip cracked at the center. 

Qui-Gon rubbed his shoulder. They were past the era of empty, hopeful platitudes. Obi-Wan’s issues required more than quick fixes. “I wasn’t visiting Anakin. I was meeting with Vokara Che.” 

Obi-Wan’s pale face was guarded. 

Qui-Gon couldn’t blame him, with all the unexpected turbulence of the healing process so far. “It’s good, Obi-Wan. It’s…,” he blinked, and was surprised by the tears he felt gather in the corners of his eyes, “it’s more than I hoped for. Healer Che and the Council have agreed to release you from the healers.”

Obi-Wan remained steadily expressionless, except for the telltale groove between his eyebrows. “Release me?”

“I can scarcely believe it myself,” Qui-Gon smiled and touched Obi-Wan’s blanketed knee. “I went to Che hoping only to broach the idea, but apparently I was trailing behind her and the Council both.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. He was holding himself very still. “I, ah...where am I being released to?”

Qui-Gon quelled a frown. “You’re staying with me, P--Obi-Wan. That is, we will share quarters here on the Healers floor. It feels very private, separate from the ward--” He paused, and placed the back of his hand against Obi-Wan’s cheek, then his forehead. “If you’re tired, we can talk about this more later.” He wasn’t sure if he should try to get Obi-Wan to eat something, or if that would worsen the nausea, and he realized soon these would be decisions he’d have to make on his own. He couldn’t comm Che or Padawan Unduli every time Obi-Wan felt sick to his stomach. 

“What will happen with Anakin?” Obi-Wan quietly persisted. 

Qui-Gon rubbed his chin. He had anticipated some joy, or, at least, relief from Obi-Wan. “There are details to sort out, Anakin being chief among them. For now, he will remain at the dorms.” They had not spoken at length about Anakin’s training. The boy was busy enough with adjusting to the Temple and the rudimentary courses he needed to complete, having been denied a traditional education on Tatooine. But Obi-Wan knew as well as Qui-Gon that Anakin, bright and talented and emotional Anakin, needed guidance. 

He needed a Master.

Yet, Qui-Gon still felt like Obi-Wan’s Master, even without the braid, or the missions. He thought of them as a single unit. If Obi-Wan was being discharged from the Healers, of course it meant he would live with Qui-Gon. What would Obi-Wan have in mind that was any different? A confused hurt niggled at the back of Qui-Gon’s head. _He is tired. I should have waited to tell him._

“Is that wise?”

Qui-Gon was taken aback by Obi-Wan’s tone. For a moment, he sounded so similar to the logical Padawan he had been, respectful but slightly rebuking of his Master’s decisions. “Is _what_ wise?”

Obi-Wan looked at him. “You announced before the Council your intention to train Anakin. You told them--me--that he was the Chosen One. How will this living arrangement benefit your new Padawan? Surely the boy merits more of your immediate attention.”

Qui-Gon noticed the pallid hue of Obi-Wan’s skin. He rose and went to the cupboard by the sink, rooting around until he found the nutritional wafers. He returned with the package and a carbonated, ginger-flavored drink. For a few minutes he busied himself with tossing the old food and setting the wafers out on a disposable plate, opening the drink and adding a straw. 

“Here,” he tapped the tray. “It’s worth a try.” He heard the edge in his own voice, and felt ashamed of it. _Patience._

Obi-Wan remained on his side. A sheet and heavier blanket were tucked up to his shoulders. He didn’t move to take anything from the tray. “I will be fine here. Healer Che has mentioned a rehabilitation center in the past. As much as I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Qui-Gon, you are not a healer, and I am not your Padawan.”

Through the sharp pulse of pain, Qui-Gon sensed something else, slipping from between Obi-Wan’s shields. Deception, though there was no malice in it. Qui-Gon took a wafer between his fingers and held it out to Obi-Wan. “I know you, Obi-Wan. As well as I could know anyone. You despise being here.”

Obi-Wan glanced at the wafer, then steadily met Qui-Gon’s eyes. “I don’t have to enjoy it. This is my present reality. Of course I wish it could be different, but not at the expense--” He stopped, setting his jaw firmly. 

Qui-Gon leaned forward. “At the expense of what? Anakin? Me?” Everything floated into place then, and he shook his head. “Obi-Wan, you are no burden to me.”

But Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “I know you don’t think of it that way. But Qui-Gon, you have already given me years of your life. I could not ask for more than that. Truly, you owe me nothing. Anakin, he--”

“Anakin is doing well. He is thriving. Do you not trust me to do the right thing by him? Have I not chosen unconventional paths before?”

Obi-Wan wrapped his arms loosely around his waist. Without the blanket covering him, Qui-Gon could see his prominent clavicle and pointed elbows. 

The resentment fled all at once. He brought the straw to Obi-Wan’s lips. “We don’t have to talk about this now. Can you try to drink something? The ginger is supposed to settle your stomach.”

“Yes, M--” Obi-Wan stopped himself. “I will. Thank you.”

He managed to keep down half of the drink, but would not attempt the wafers. There were things to be done before he could go to sleep for the night--Obi-Wan brushed his teeth and then Qui-Gon massaged his limbs. While Obi-Wan discreetly used the bedpan, Qui-Gon went out into the hall with the excuse of asking for linens and another pillow. 

Often Qui-Gon would read to Obi-Wan as he settled down to rest, or talk about some piece of Temple news. Tonight he found he had nothing to say, but the silence was companionable, a welcome contrast to their earlier, tense conversation. 

He dimmed the lights. He sensed when Obi-Wan drifted, consciousness dissolving into that familiar muddle of chemicals. Inevitably, Qui-Gon’s thoughts returned to the new apartment, how it had gleamed with clean, silver promise. He had missed something, overlooked Obi-Wan’s sense of guilt. Again, he had assumed Obi-Wan would know Qui-Gon’s feelings, with their connection in the Force, and their many years together. 

Not even the Council seemed concerned about Anakin, not at the moment. The quarters were plenty large enough for a third person. Qui-Gon could make it work.

He would make it work.

\----

Qui-Gon did not mention Obi-Wan’s potential discharge after their disagreement, and for that Obi-Wan was grateful. A few days later, he had already been taken off the anti-nausea medication and placed on another. The complicated names were impossible to remember. He had glanced at his own chart once and goggled at the listed medicines. Not for the first time, he marveled that anyone would want to be a healer. 

Vokara Che seemed content with her decisions, however, carrying herself with confidence and peace. Today she did not appear in his room until late afternoon, but rather than examine him or ask for his current symptoms and pain levels, she sat in Qui-Gon’s empty chair. 

“Rare indeed to find you alone here, Obi-Wan.” She said with a soft smile. “Your Master is an attentive one. Stubborn, too.”

“I won’t argue with you.”

“I didn’t think so. Although, you seem rather hard headed yourself.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Healer Che?” Certainly he was foggy headed, but he didn’t think he’d shown any true obstinance during his endless months in the healers ward. 

“From a medical perspective, you remain in need of daily care, and we can provide that to you. No one is suggesting you don’t have a choice. But from a psychological perspective, Obi-Wan, you are languishing. It is my opinion that you need a change, a jumpstart.”

Obi-Wan’s throat felt tight. He looked past her, at the open door. He could not walk out of here, but he could still leave, as he had imagined doing over and over. Qui-Gon’s words lingered in his mind. He wanted to move on from this place, and Qui-Gon wanted to help him. It would be a simple solution, except for Anakin.

_Even without Anakin, you would be a burden to him. He is a Jedi Master. He is meant to serve the Force, not you._

Che stood. “You will be supported either way. Just...consider it.”

\----

Obi-Wan considered it. He meditated, seeking to separate his emotions from the will of the Force. He laid awake when his muscles screamed and the pain made him dizzy, thinking. But he always came to the same conclusion: it was better for him to stay where he was, and give Qui-Gon the chance to move on. 

\---


	2. Chapter 2

Qui-Gon left during the day more often. Sometimes he would tell Obi-Wan where he was going, other times he didn’t say, or was gone when Obi-Wan woke from a muzzy midday nap. Again, Obi-Wan knew it was for the best, and Qui-Gon always kept his comm on him in case of an emergency, but he could not help the small, sinking disappointment he felt when he saw the empty chair beside his bed. 

He reminded himself that if he were a new Knight, he would be alone constantly. Though he existed in this uncomfortable limbo, stuck between his past role as a student and an unnamed future, Obi-Wan could still behave as a Knight would. 

Which meant serenely accepting when Qui-Gon left the room, and not betraying any emotion when the footsteps he heard outside his door a few hours later ended up belonging to Anakin Skywalker. 

Obi-Wan instinctively tried to sit up straighter in his bed, but he had struggled with widespread pain all day, and his arms were too weak. He cleared his throat and offered a smile. “Anakin, it’s good to see you.”

And it was, despite the messiness Anakin’s arrival in their lives had caused. He sensed only good in the boy, a strong light he still could not quite look at in the Force without blinking. Anakin was standing in the center of the room, dressed in the brown and cream uniform of an initiate, his sandy-colored hair closely shorn. He looked, like most Jedi children, both serious and impossibly, tenderly young. 

Anakin tilted his head and scratched his ear. “Hi, Master...uh...Obi-Wan.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m not even a Knight yet.” He heard the easy optimism in his voice and was even glad of it--with this child he could gloss over the harder truths. _Yet_ , not, _never_ , because _never_ was an extreme concept for a ten year old. 

Or a 26 year old, Obi-Wan thought. 

Anakin took a few steps closer, glancing around the room. “You’ve still gotta lotta hospital machine stuff in here. But Master Qui-Gon said you were doing, like, really good?”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “You should know that Master Qui-Gon is never wrong. I am doing much better. Most of this equipment isn’t used anymore.” He motioned to the vacant chair. “Why don’t you sit? You haven’t visited in awhile. I’d like to know how you’ve been getting along.”

“Yeah? Wizard.” Anakin’s eyes brightened and he gratefully flopped into the chair. Instantly, the honest, curious boy from Tatooine overtook the uncertain fledgling Jedi. He swung his legs, boots scraping the ground with a squeak. 

The phantom urge to move his feet flared in Obi-Wan’s brain. He ignored the now-familiar panic that followed when his nerves didn’t answer the call. “How are you liking your classes?

“They’re pretty good,” Anakin’s mouth quirked to the side and he shrugged. “Master Koon is super nice. There’s a bunch of boring stuff like….I mean not boring, just not…”

“Not exciting,” Obi-Wan finished for him. “I was your age once. I remember being anxious for action, not philosophy and mathematics. But there is a time for everything, Anakin.”

Anakin snorted, eyes smiling. “You totally sound like Master Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan’s heart hurt, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. “Well, as I said, Master Qui-Gon is always right. I suppose that means I am as well.”

“Yeeeah, my mom was always right too. I think maybe it’s just a thing all old people think about themselves.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “That’s certainly true among some old people I know.”

The boy looked like he was holding in a bigger, proud smile. He tapped his fingers along the arm of the plasteel chair. 

Obi-Wan watched him, thinking. “Anakin, I am always happy to see you. But is everything alright? Normally you don’t visit without Master Qui-Gon.”

Anakin must have caught the change in Obi-Wan’s tone, because he stopped fidgeting and sat up straighter. “No, everything is good. Like it’s still hard to wake up and believe that I’m here and not living with Watto, but everyone makes me feel like this is where I’m supposed to be, you know? I mean I know I’m different than the other kids here, but I was different from the other kids back on Tatooine too, cuz they didn’t feel...well, I guess it’s the Force I was feeling, right?”

“Right.” Obi-Wan confirmed softly. He was struck again by the boy’s casual insights, how stars aligned for him. He had been wrong about Anakin Skywalker in the beginning, seeing a clouded future, that fleeting sense of darkness, when it must have been confused prescience about his own looming near-death encounter. (And, admittedly, some unexpected jealousy.) No, he was not ready to be a Knight at all. But the Force had opened up and this remarkable child was blossoming--more than a consolation, it seemed to be fate. “I’m glad you have settled in so well, Anakin. The Order is better for having you in it.”

He was rewarded with the flash of a grin. “Thanks! You’re way nicer than when I first met you. You hardly ever said anything and sometimes when you’d look at me--I dunno, I was super scared about leaving my m...my home and all that, so it was probably just me being weird.”

Obi-Wan looked down at the blanket in his lap. There was much he couldn’t piece together in the days preceding the Theed attack; Che had cautioned that he might never fully recollect that time. He _did_ remember enough to know he had treated the boy unfairly. “It wasn’t you, Anakin. You were incredibly brave to come with Qui-Gon to Coruscant. I didn’t mean to seem cold. I was struggling with my fears, too. I am sorry.”

“That’s alright. I’m sorry too. I knew like right away that you were actually nice, after the thing with the Sith,” the boy hesitated, “cuz Master Qui-Gon was really, _really_ upset. And if he was _that_ scared about you, you had to be a good person, since he’s such a good person. And you are.”

The earnestness in Anakin’s blue eyes made Obi-Wan want to look away, but he didn’t. “Thank you, Anakin. I want to be a good person. It isn’t always easy, even a Jedi. Every day we must make choices to serve the Light side of the Force.”

“But then--” Anakin stopped himself and bit his bottom lip.

“Go on.”

“Does that mean your choice to stay here is _good_ , even though Qui-Gon definitely doesn’t like it? Can a choice be good when it makes a good person sad?”

Obi-Wan’s throat thickened. “You think Master Qui-Gon is sad?”

Anakin glanced away, as if realizing he had said too much, betrayed a secret. “He thought you’d be happy to be out of here. He said you guys used to live together before and it was gonna be nice to be like that again. He said there’d be room for me too, which would be really awesome.”

“Does Qui-Gon know you’ve come to see me, Anakin?” _Is he hoping you can convince me, when he couldn’t?_

“Not exactly,” Anakin admitted with a sheepish look. “He’s meditating in the gardens and I sort’ve told Master Koon I was going to the archives.”

“So this is a covert mission, then?”

“No. I just didn’t tell anyone I was coming here.” 

Obi-Wan started to laugh, but pain radiated from the saber wound, and he had to stifle a moan instead. “So you’ve risked the wrath of several Jedi Masters just to see me?”

Anakin scratched his head. “I guess so. But I don’t really care if I get in trouble, if I can help Master Qui-Gon. He’s done so much for me. He promised to take me as his Padawan when I’m ready. I know he will because he’s the kind of person who keeps his promises. Mom said he was ‘ _honorable_ ’, and she wouldn’t say that about just anyone.”

“Your mother sounds wise.”

“Well she just knew who was good and who was bad, like, the same way she could sniff food and tell right away if it was spoiled, even when I totally would’ve ate it. She knew Qui-Gon would keep his promise. I know it too. He promised to make me a Jedi and he told me he promised himself he would take care of you.”

Obi-Wan swallowed and looked down. Suddenly he wanted a healer to walk in, or for Plo Koon to find the boy, any interruption would be welcome. “Well, Anakin…” his voice cracked and he paused, started again, “Qui-Gon has done a very good job of taking care of me. But I am much older than you and I need to take care of myself now.”

Anakin’s face fell. “Do you have to be alone to take care of yourself? Is that what being old means?”

Blast but Qui-Gon _had_ been right about this child. Obi-Wan felt helpless, exposed, unable to get away as his fragilities were laid bare. That ache of loss vibrated from his chest down to the numb void past his midsection. His legs were still there, but they lay under the hospital blankets, made of stone, detached from the rest of him. The vestiges of his old life still lingered, and yet he did not feel like they were a part of him anymore. 

_Is it better then to cut off your legs? And cut off all the other things that connect you to what you could have been?_

Anakin’s expectant eyes remained on him. 

“I’m sorry, Anakin. I’m getting quite tired.” It wasn’t a lie, not completely. He sensed the boy’s disappointment in the Force. He managed a small smile. “It was nice talking to you and I’m very glad that you’re doing well with your classes. But I bet Master Koon is looking for you as we speak.”

“Oh---okay.” Anakin stood and tugged his tunics straight. “It was nice talking to you, too. I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thank you, Anakin.”

He watched the small figure retreat, disappearing into the hallway. Alone, Obi-Wan sank his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes. 

\----

Softness touched his arm; he broke through a dark surface, just enough to understand that he had been sleeping, dreaming in disparate little pieces, elusive images that scattered and dissolved as soon as he managed a coherent thought: _awake_. He sensed that it was night. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Qui-Gon whispered, his hands gentle as he gradually rolled Obi-Wan from his left side onto his back. Another task performed for him, to prevent the stiffness that came from sleeping in one position too long. 

Somehow the pain, though dependable and immovable as the Force itself, still took him by surprise. The brace around his midsection felt cold and unnatural and hard, and then past that he felt nothing, a buzzing null and panic and it was wrong, his legs gone and his heart pounding in his ears, nothing in the right place, nothing--

He flickered, in and out, going under the surface into the viscous, clinging chemical abyss. When he was aware again, he heard himself panting, felt clammy sweat pooled around his neck. 

“Shhh…it’s alright. Be at peace.”

Lips against his forehead, lingering, warm breath. The mild, earthy scent of the Temple Gardens, leaves and soil and clean air. The ends of Qui-Gon’s hair brushing over his shoulder. Obi-Wan struggled against the weight of his eyelids. 

“Breathe with me…”

Qui-Gon’s voice was like a silver thread, glowing through the darkness. Obi-Wan imagined that thread wrapping around his broken body. He would feel whole again, if only he could lay still and listen to Qui-Gon speak, in that reassuring voice, more familiar than even his own. 

Obi-Wan breathed.

Qui-Gon smoothed his palm over Obi-Wan’s hair. “That’s better,” he said, after some amount of time had passed. The big hand stilled, withdrew. 

He cracked an eye open and saw Qui-Gon turning towards the chair. Obi-Wan grabbed his wrist. “No.” 

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon used his free hand to cover Obi-Wan’s, where it held on to his wrist. The room was nearly dark, and it took a moment for Obi-Wan’s vision to settle and see the outline of the tall man in his Jedi robes. 

He did not want to be alone. 

“Obi-Wan? Are you alright? What hurts?”

Obi-Wan had been asked that question over and over, since Naboo. He had never told the entire truth. But Che, Anakin, and Qui-Gon, they could all see it anyway. His eyes filled with hot tears, the room dissolved, and he finally answered, by slipping his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck and pulling with all his meager strength. “Don’t go,” Obi-Wan mumbled between weak gasps. 

The rasp of Qui-Gon’s beard against his face, lips barely touching his earlobe. “Then come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to outpastthemoat for all her help and insight. And of course firondoiel, happygiraffe and sanerontheinside for their continuous support.


End file.
